Blood and Water
by Kaiser Wilhelm
Summary: Ch1: Sirius had left out the fact that he had come so close to losing his sanity when he had found the house in Godric's Hollow. He was ready to scream his lungs out, kill Peter, and then himself.
1. Prologue

A long as Harry could remember, he was taught to check around corners, to never leave the house alone, to scrutinize rooms for traps, and to always be wary of the dark. As a child, Harry was never allowed to go outside and play with the other children; he was rarely allowed to leave the house at all. If he did go outside, it was always under the supervision of someone, but Harry didn't mind; he had never known it any other way.

As he grew older though, he began to notice the way the other children were acting. _They_ never checked around corners. _They_ were allowed to leave the house alone. It all seemed so strange to Harry. Why were the other kids being so careless? Soon he began to wonder why he was raised so differently; why he was the only one who had to scrutinize the room for traps and be wary of the dark. He never asked his godfather though. To his godfather, these rules were absolute. Harry could only come up with one explanation, and it was something that had perplexed him for years.

Harry could only vaguely recall events that occurred when he was a toddles, but this particular event was nearly impossible to forget. When Harry was three or four he had gone to market with his godfather to stock up on food. Harry had been exuberant since he rarely got the opportunity to go out, and even more rarely was he able to go out without his invisibility cloak handy.

Harry could not recollect why he had wandered away from his godfather that day. Perhaps it was because his godfather's attention had been focused elsewhere, or maybe his natural curiosity had simply gotten the better of him, all he could remember was that he had snuck away from his godfather in Diagon Alley, and straight into Nocturne Alley.

The next thing he knew was that he was surrounded, surrounded by bad people. He wasn't exactly sure how he knew they were bad, but he didn't have a doubt in his mind that they were. They kept their faces hidden in shadow, while their bodies were obscured by enormous black cloaks. Harry could hardly even distinguish their genders.

One of them moved towards him. Harry backed away a few steps. He wanted to run, but he had backed right into a wall. The person who had stepped forward knelt down in front of Harry, to make eye contact.

"Come with us, Harry," he whispered sweetly. From his voice, it was now clear that he was a man. "I have a son about your age, and we'll have loads of _fun_." Harry did not like this man's emphasis on the word "fun." In fact, Harry did not like this man at all, nor any if these people. He wanted his godfather. The man reached out to grab him. No! Harry didn't want to go with this man! He wished he had never come to this place.

Just as the man seized Harry, there was a cry of "Stupefy!" Harry knew that voice; it was his godfather! One of the people fell to the ground. The man let go of Harry and ran. Most of the people scattered. One or two stayed behind but were easily overpowered by his godfather. Harry fell to his knees, frightened and shaking. His godfather knelt down beside him.

"Harry," he said softly, "Are you all right?" Harry managed a small nod. His godfather hugged him, and that was as much as he could remember.

Harry hadn't known at the time, but looking back, he realized that those people were attempting to kidnap him. Maybe that was why he had to be so cautious, so that he wouldn't be kidnapped. But, weren't the other kids just as likely to be kidnapped. Perhaps, for some reason, he was in much more danger of being kidnapped than the other children. This seemed to go deeper than that one isolated incident, far deeper.

There were other things Harry had yet to understand. Aside from the constant vigilance that his godfather urged, Harry had to wonder about his godfather himself. When he was small, Harry had never wondered why his godfather was taking care of him. His godfather just was. It wasn't until he grew older that he realized that most children had a mother and a father. Harry began to wonder, was his godfather, in fact, his father, and if so, where was his mother? This was something Harry could not bare to keep inside. When he asked his godfather, he responded simply, "No, Harry, I'm not your father." Harry was not satisfied with this answer alone. He asked him to elaborate, and his godfather continued on to say, "I was your dad's best mate, and when you were born, he and your mum named me your godfather. That means that if anything were to happen to them, I would take care of you. And something did happen to them Harry, something really bad. Your parents…died." Harry wasn't sure what it meant to die at the time. He could still remember the sympathetic, melancholy look in his godfather's eyes as well as the soft, sad tone he spoke in.

"Harry, that means that your parents have gone somewhere, and they can't come back. They can't talk to you or contact you, but, trust me, Harry, if they could, they would love to see you." Harry asked how his parents had died, but his godfather didn't respond. Finally he said, "I'll tell you when you're older." Harry detested that response but knew that it mean end of conversation. To this day, Harry was still unsure about how his parents were taken from him.

There was one other thing that puzzled Harry, and it rested dead center on his forehead. Harry had a strange scar hidden under his jet black bangs. It was shaped like a bolt of lightning and was so old that he could never recall how he got it. Whenever he tried, all he could remember was a flash of strange green light, but he could never make anything of it.

This was something he frequently asked his godfather about, but whenever he would ask, his godfather would always mumble, "I'll tell you when you're older." This was probably the key reason as to why he loathed that answer, but in the end, there where many questions that plagued Harry, questions that would be answered sooner than Harry thought.


	2. Nothing But the Truth

***Yeah…I was in an HP mood…and suddenly, I found myself wanting to update this fic. Wow. Yeah, so it's been about well…I was a freshman when I started this…now I'm a senior. HOLY SHIT!!! So, if you were wondering why the first chapter sucks but the second one doesn't quite as much, well, there you go. It's funny trying to write this. I'm used to writing manga fics (specifically **_**Naruto**_**). There's really no voice in manga, so it doesn't feel weird to be writing in my own style. But with HP, there's already an established voice, so it just feels weird! I dunno how you HP writers do it! Anyway, this is dedicated to one of my best friends in the entire world, BRIDGET!!! Trust me, everyone needs a Bridget. Well, nevertheless, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: The following is a **_**Harry**__**Potter**_** fanfic written by Kaiser Wilhelm, with much help from Bridget. Viewer discretion is advised. Also, I don't own **_**Harry**__**Potter**_**. If I did, I'd buy myself a firebolt!!**

**Chapter 1: Nothing But the Truth**

Harry awoke with a start, staring up at the ceiling of his room. He blinked lazily, reorienting himself. He was in his bed, still in the tiny house that he shared with his godfather. He could hear the usual creaking of the house's foundation (it was rather old). His window was open letting in the humid mid-July air. Sirius must have stopped in to let some fresh air into the room; he _never_ let Harry leave the window open overnight. His godfather certainly was a paranoid man.

Still, more important than Sirius's odd behavioral patterns was the dream that he had just awoken from. It was the usual dream: muffled screams followed by an eerie bright green light. However, this time, there was something new: a flying motorcycle. Harry's godfather owned one of course, but what did that old bewitched vehicle have to do with the green light? Perhaps nothing. Maybe Harry just had a tendency to have odd dreams. But why would the dream suddenly changed after years of consistency? Unfortunately, as it was with most of his questions, Harry had no answers. He shrugged; he would figure it out eventually.

As he grabbed his glasses from the bedside table, Harry wondered what exactly had woken him in the first place. It had not been a scary dream, so what would wake him so suddenly? As he pondered this, he absent-mindedly wondered what the strange smell wafting into his room was. Then, it hit him. His emerald green eyes widened as he jumped out of bed: something was burning. No wonder that he had woken.

Harry dashed down the stairs into the kitchen, where the pungent smell appeared to be coming from. There stood a relatively shabby-looking man, who had prematurely graying hair and a friendly disposition. He was reading a book about dark creatures, completely ignoring the black smoke drifting up from the stove.

"Remus!" cried Harry. "Who let you cook?!" Remus blinked, looking up from his book with a smile.

"Ah, Harry, good to see you-"

"Never mind that!" Harry ran to the sink, filled a glass with water and threw it on the burning food and stove. He sighed with relief as the fire went out on the first try. "It's like ground zero in here! There's nothing left to salvage!"

Remus simply laughed. "Oh come now, Harry. The eggs are still almost-edible."

"I wouldn't feed this to a Welsh Greenback, and they'll eat anything." Harry sighed, cleaning up the mess. "Anyway, what on earth possessed you to cook?" The man grinned.

"Oh, I offered, and Sirius agreed. All I'm lacking is initiative…I think." A bark of a laugh came from the doorway.

"More like talent." Harry and Remus both turned to find themselves looking at Harry's good-natured godfather. The longhaired man ambled over to the two. "Mornin', Harry," he greeted, tousling the boy's hair.

"Morning, Sirius," Harry replied cheerfully before turning back to Remus. "By the way, Remus, I meant to ask, what're you doing here?" Remus raised an eyebrow.

"You really don't know, Harry?" Harry simply shook his head.

"Any particular reason I should?" Sirius and Remus exchanged glances. The former slapped his forehead with his palm.

"Worse than James that one is," his godfather muttered.

"Harry," began Remus, "it's your birthday."

"He got a Hogwarts letter the other day too. You'd think he'd remember, but no, no he doesn't." Harry let this sink in for a moment.

"Wait a minute," he began slowly, "that means I'm eleven…cool!" Shaking his head fondly, Sirius led Harry over to the kitchen table.

"Just sit down before you hurt yourself. You too, Remus. _I'll_ make breakfast."

"Sirius, if you know I was going to set the stove on fire, why'd you let me cook?"

"Because as much as I love the stove, I do find it rather hilarious when Harry panics like that."

"_Why do I feel like the only adult in the room?"_ thought Harry.

This particular birthday was the best that Harry had ever had. He could not have told you exactly why though. It was not that Remus was there, as Remus was there every year. In fact, in many ways, it was just like every year. The three of them had cake, which was no different than the year before. The gifts were different but still nice (a sneakoscope from Remus and Sirius claimed that he planned on getting him something special when they went to buy his books in Diagon Alley). Still, as Remus waved goodbye, saying that he would stop by to see Harry off to Hogwarts (if not sooner), Harry could not help but to think that this had been one of the best days that he had ever had.

However, when Harry and Sirius went back inside, the former turned to smile at his godfather, but Sirius did not grin back as he was known to do. In fact, he was frowning.

He led Harry back into the kitchen, sat him down at the table, and grabbed a butterbeer for Harry and a firewhiskey for himself. Sirius only drank when something was bothering him. He took a large gulp and sighed.

"Harry, you know how there're a lot of questions you have that I never answer?" He paused as Harry nodded. "You know how I always tell you, 'I'll tell you when you're older'?" It was now dark. The crickets chirped, and the room was filled with the warmth and sounds of summer. Still, to Harry, the room was dead silent and freezing. "Well, Harry, you're older now," he let out another deep sigh, "and I think it's time I told you the truth." He put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Don't feel weird about stopping me if you need to ask me something, you got me?" Again, Harry nodded.

"Okay, let's start from the beginning: I guess it really starts and ends with Lord Voldemort." Harry did not know much about Voldemort; whenever Harry asked, Sirius would reply, "He was the worst of the worst, Harry. The most powerful dark wizard that ever lived. Those were some dark times," or something of the like. "Well, Dumbledore started the Order of the Phoenix to try and defeat Voldemort. Lots of people were in the order: me, Remus, the Longbottoms, Hagrid, Mad-Eye Moody, and, of course, your parents." Harry nodded with a smile. Now his parents was a subject that Harry was nearly an expert on. Sirius loved to recant his many adventures with James and Remus at Hogwarts. He spoke of Lily less often, but when he did, there was an obvious fondness. However, there was a fifth person that Harry saw in all of the pictures of his parents, Remus, and Sirius. When Harry had asked Sirius about him, with a look of utter loathing, Sirius had spat out, "That's Peter Pettigrew." Harry never asked about him again.

"Did my parents help fight Voldemort?" At this, Sirius grinned.

"Sure did. I can't tell you the number of times they came face-to-face with Voldemort only to narrowly escape. Well…Dumbledore says it was three times; of course, he'd be the only one who'd ever count." They shared a laugh. "Yeah…they were a huge help, and I suppose that's why…" Sirius trailed off, his face growing dark. "I suppose that's why he decided to kill them." Harry's bright green eyes widened.

"Kill them? You mean it was Voldemort, who…?"

"Yeah. It all happened so fast. One day, Dumbledore got word from an informant that Voldemort wanted to kill them. We needed a way to hide Lily, James, and you—yes, Harry, you were just a baby then, but when Voldemort wants to kill a family, he doesn't leave anyone alive. Well, Dumbledore came up with an idea. We decided to use the Fidelius Charm." He paused, giving Harry a moment to voice his confusion.

"What's that?" he asked.

"It's…sort of hard to explain. Basically, it's when you hide information (in this case, the whereabouts of your parents) in a single living person. The chosen person, called the Secret-Keeper, makes the information impossible to find unless they choose to reveal it. Get it?"

"Er—not really." Sirius tousled his hair from across the table.

"It's okay; I didn't have a knack for charms theory either. That was more of Lily's forte. Well, you're parents were more or less going into hiding, and no one but the Secret-Keeper knew where. So no one could figure out where they were no matter how long they looked. Voldemort could be right in front of their house and still never find them." Harry nodded.

"Okay, I think I get it, but who was their Secret-Keeper?"

"Well, I was, naturally-" Sirius cut off as he noticed just how very shocked his godson was at the concept. "Harry?"

"Then how did they get found?!" cried Harry. "I know you, Sirius! You would never tell anyone where they were hiding! Voldemort could've tortured you forever, and you wouldn't say a word!" Harry's gaze fell to the kitchen table as he began again, softer this time, "You, you…you loved them too much to ever give away the secret." When he looked up, he was surprised to find that his godfather was smiling.

"It's good to know someone trusts me," he murmured. "Because Dumbledore definitely didn't." Harry blinked.

"Why?"

"Well, it was obvious that someone close to your parents was giving away information about their location, and Dumbledore suspected that that person was me."

"You? That's crazy! I'd have suspected _me_ before you, and I was just a baby." Sirius tried to grin, but his expression was warped by the memory, becoming a wry smile instead.

"Yeah, well, when James suggested me, Dumbledore tried to persuade James to use him instead. But your dad was stubborn, and he used me anyway. But, before we underwent the charm, I got nervous. I kept thinking that I was the obvious choice for their Secret-Keeper. Voldemort would go after me first. I kept going through scenarios of ways Voldemort could get to me. Sure, it wouldn't have worked if he tortured or threatened me, but, Harry, there're other ways of getting someone to talk. What if he captured Remus and made me choose between my two best friends? Or what if he got a hold of me and forced me to drink a truth potion? I'd have told him against my will.

"I told James about these fears, and then I…I convinced him to…" Sirius swallowed, burying his face in his hands. "Harry, I as good as murdered your parents." Harry's eyes grew ever-wider. What had happened? Had Sirius's fears come true? Had he been captured?

"Harry, do you remember when I mentioned Peter Pettigrew?" Whatever Harry was expecting next, it was not that. He nodded mutely. "Well, we called him Wormtail because when we went on our 'moonlit adventures,' he transformed into a rat." Sirius had spoken enthusiastically about these adventures before, but he had never mentioned "Wormtail."

"You mean it wasn't just you, Remus, and Dad?"

"No, in my school days, I had three very best friends: James, Remus, and Peter. Peter wasn't particularly smart or talented. In reality, he was just hiding behind the three of us. We had no idea of course, and we all stayed friends even after Hogwarts. But it turned out that Peter was no better than the rat he transformed into, worse if you ask me."

"Sirius?"

"Harry, that night before the charm was performed, I convinced your parents to switch the Secret-Keeper to Peter. I was sure that no one would suspect Peter of being the Secret-Keeper since he wasn't much of a fighter, and I didn't tell anyone we'd switched. Not Dumbledore, not even Remus. I was a red herring for Voldemort; he could torture and interrogate me all he liked, but he'd never get any closer to you and your parents. I thought my plan was foolproof, but…I was wrong.

"Not even a week after the charm was performed, Voldemort came to your hiding place. Peter had been working for _him_ all along. He was the one passing on all the information. He was a double-agent, and when I convinced James to switch…I as good as handed him and Lily to Voldemort." Harry wanted to berate his godfather, tell him that he had know idea, that it was Peter's fault and not his, but no words would come.

"Voldemort came to your house. He killed James and Lily, and then, he turned his wand on you. But, for some reason, the curse didn't work. When he tried to kill you, the curse rebounded on him and drained him of all his power. You're the only person to ever survive the killing curse, Harry, and the only thing to prove it is the scar on your forehead."

"But, why?" cried Harry frantically. "I was just a baby! I don't have any special powers! Why didn't it work?" Sirius shrugged.

"No one's really sure, but that night, you defeated the worst dark wizard to ever walk the earth, and everyone in the wizarding world knows it. Harry, there's not a witch or wizard on the planet who doesn't know your name." Harry just stared at his godfather, mouth agape.

"Is this why random people always come up to me and shake my hand and stuff?" Sirius nodded. "That's so weird."

"Tell me about it," muttered the other.

"What happened to Voldemort?"

"Well, no one knows for sure, but Dumbledore reckons he's still out there somewhere, too weak to go on. And when Dumbledore has a hunch like that, it tends to be true." Harry downed about half of his glass of butterbeer. As he looked at his godfather (who was now refilling his firewhiskey), he had a feeling that there was more to this story.

"Sirius, what happened after that?" Sirius sighed, taking another gulp from his glass.

"I was the first on the scene. I found the house; it was decimated. For a while, I just stood there in shock. Somewhere, deep down, I know exactly what'd happened, but I couldn't bear to believe it.

"Then, I heard crying. It was you, Harry. That seemed to pull me out of my shock, and I dug through the rubble until I found you, I had no idea how you were still alive, but I was your godfather—am your godfather—so I knew I had to take you in. That was about the time that Hagrid showed up. Hagrid said he was on a mission from Dumbledore to bring you to your aunt and uncle's (on your mum's side). I told him that I was your godfather, so I should take care of you, but he refused to let me. I ended up going with him to see Dumbledore.

"I convinced Dumbledore to let me raise you (after I'd explained the situation with Peter), but Dumbledore warmed me that the world was still swarming with Voldemort's followers, Death Eaters. I was to take every precaution to protect you from them. You remember when you were almost kidnapped in Knockturn Alley?" Harry nodded. "That was them. They wanted to kill you, Harry. They still do, and that's why I may seem paranoid to you sometimes." Sirius stopped there.

He had left out the fact that he had come _so_ close to losing his sanity when he had found the house. He was ready to scream his lungs out, kill Peter, and then himself. He had not known what to do with himself anymore, and then, he had heard Harry. When he found that baby boy, suddenly his life had had meaning again. Harry became his soul reason for living. He was the only person who could take care of the boy. He had a purpose. He clutched onto that baby and refused to let go, and when Hagrid threatened to take that all away, he fought for it.

Even when Dumbledore had tried to convince him that it was for the best, Sirius would not let go of Harry. He had begged and screamed and cried right there on Privet Drive. He needed Harry. Harry was all that remained of James. Harry was all that he had left. Without him, Sirius would have gone mad. Dumbledore, seeming to realize this, had reluctantly agreed.

But Harry was too young to understand all of this now. That was a story for a different time.

When Sirius came out of his reverie, he saw that his godson was just sitting there in a sort of dazed shock. He was neither speaking nor moving. He looked about ready to crack. Seeing this, Sirius stood with a resolute expression and pulled Harry into a powerful hug.

Later, in his room, Harry lay wide-awake in bed. He felt sick. One of his parents' best friends betrayed them and caused their deaths. Harry had defeated the most powerful dark wizard to have ever lived when he was just a baby, and no one knew how or why. It was too much, far too much. He did not know what to do with it all.

Harry stood and made his way over to his godfather's room.

"Sirius," he called softly.

"What's up?" his godfather called drowsily from the bed.

"C-could I…sleep in here tonight?" He felt so stupid asking this. He had not slept in his godfather's room for years, and back then, he had only done so when he had had a particularly terrifying nightmare.

"Of course," replied Sirius warmly. Well, at least his godfather did not seem to think any less of him. Harry climbed into bed beside the other. "Good night, Harry."

"Night, Sirius." After a few minutes of tossing and turning, Harry finally fell asleep.

***Yeah…so, this chapter has made me realize that, unfortunately, I'm not J.K. Rowling. Well, now I'm depressed. But, hey, at least it's better than the last chapter! See, contrary to popular belief, high school actually does cause this interesting reaction called learning! Odd, isn't it? Anyway, thanks so much for reading. I suppose it's a different audience than I'm used to but, hell, I love you guys!**


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